Dark Decadence
by Nara Merald
Summary: Draco, Pansy, Blaise… all next generation Death Eaters, destined to be darkly, gloriously evil murderers. If you think they’re innocent, you’re dead wrong. Literally. [One shots Series]
1. And the Darkness Consumed Her

**Dark Decadence**

By Nara Occult

_And the darkness consumed her…_

**Series Summary:** Draco, Pansy, Blaise… all next generation Death Eaters, destined to be darkly, gloriously evil murderers. If you think they're innocent, you're dead wrong. Literally. One shots Series

**Colour:** Grey  
**Antagonist:** Draco Malfoy**  
Summary:** Gray. Everything about Granger turned Gray in the end. What happens when someone you know dies? You feel bad, right? Think again Because this is me, Draco Malfoy that we're talking about, and I never did like Mudbloods that much.

**Disclaimers:** This is a series not a continuing story; that is to say a whole bunch of deliciously dark one-shots based around Draco, Blaise and Pansy. They are not connected. You could skip one and read others. I do not own or profit from Harry Potter. If this looks familiar, it's because they were originally individual stories and I decided to combine them.

_And the darkness consumed her…_

Gray. That's what it is. It's all Gray. I know I am supposed to feel elated but all I feel is numb. Granger is dead.

And it's all my fault.

It started so innocuously. But not innocent. Oh no. It was never innocent. My family has always been dark, my father after all, is Voldemort's right hand man and I myself wear the dark mark. I was given what I thought was a menial but boring assignment. I've never really grown into a taste for torture, though I can stand it. If Voldemort ran the ministry, I'd almost do the paperwork, but a Malfoy, a Malfoy is too good for that. Too good for anything but the role I was born into.

Naturally, if I wanted to, I could change, betray my own blood and my lord. But I don't particularly want to. I like being safe from the dark. I like the power, and I like the money. And to be honest, I don't care for ideals.  
After this long in service, I didn't believe anything could shock me.

But she did.

Like someone standing, like an onlooker, I watch my hand elegantly clasped around the glass of brandy. I am, of age now, being seventeen. It strikes me now, that she had her own brand of the Darkness inside her. I bear it's mark on my arm, its teeth grown into me, my own Darkness. I don't mind much, and I suppose that is part of my problem. If I were a decent person, I would care, and that I don't… that doesn't bother me either.

Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini and I, we are the leaders of a new generation of Death Eaters. We don't have the zeal of hating Mudbloods, although of course, the contempt is there. What the Dark Lord hasn't realised is that this generation is different. Lucius, my father, cares. He wants to make the world a 'better place' in his own twisted way. So did the other Death Eaters. They wanted to make the world theirs and they wanted power.

We, on the other hand, just plain don't care. It's easier now, to play the role I've been born into. I call it fate, almost. Whispers of the word monster reached me from others, because they know it was my fault too. Don't get me wrong, I am not guilty, insofar as I feel no guilt. It was a curious thing to watch, because yes, I was there, and I felt nothing. And yet in death, she intrigues me as she never had in life. A useless mudblood. A wasted mudblood.

Reflexively, my fingers curl around the crystal brandy glass. Nothing but the best, for a Malfoy.

We started out slow, because she was our target. Unlike Harry, who we had been forbidden to touch, Hermione was the strategist, the brains behind the Golden Trio. How far from grace mudblood angels fall. Mudblood Angels. What an oxymoron.

It was little things, leaving notes in her dormitory. Making sure to steadily wear her down every day. Slowly, meticulously, we set it up so her friends drifted apart. Making things that little bit harder for Ron and Harry to run Quidditch, so they spent more time. Pansy drawing Lavender in. Parvati we dealt with, as she originally refused to co-operate. She had an unfortunate incident and switched schools, along with the Ravenclaw sister, Padma.

Hints to the youngest Weasel about Hermione liking Harry quickly set her offside, when enough 'evidence' had been amassed. And then the finishing touch had been a little spell, designed to imprint negative thoughts. And we planned. We spent a year of careful organisation, making sure we did this right. I think Pansy took pleasure in watching the transformation, a sign of her work. I certainly enjoyed things from the observers seat.  
Soon she really had nowhere to turn. She could never really fall out of favour with the teachers, but her snappish melancholy disturbed them and alienated them from her. Where had the bright, promise filled student gone?

I took a sip of my Brandy once more.

It had changed when there were Rumors of Hermione having a fight with Harry on the top of the tower. We had quickly decided to watch, waiting at the bottom with others, the stupid, useless Gryffindors, who were to proud to notice one of their own was drowning. By the time we took off the depression spell, her own depression had set in so strongly that she was killing herself inside. We had ensured she would create her own demise, hopefully going off like a ticking time bomb. It was just a matter of time when.

I don't think any of us expected her to do it so spectacularly.

Then again, I would be somewhat annoyed if my friends failed to realise something was so wrong. Or perhaps I wouldn't care either? The thought doesn't really bother me, now that I think about it. Is this wrong?

My thoughts flash back to the day it happened, and I notice my hands grasp the glass of brandy a little harder.

I remember watching her at the tower. Watching her come out to find the crowd. Tears dripped down her sallow cheeks. She had wasted away. It was beautiful to see. Her brown eyes were dead and broken, but there was a queer light to her that I immediately noted. It was then that the suspense had started to build in me, and I had pointed it out to Pansy and Blaise, who too watched with an avid fascination.

Our Darkness had become Her Darkness, and Her Darkness had consumed her.

"WHAT ARE YOU ALL WAITING FOR?" Hermione had screamed, the crowd taken aback and muttering. I watched it all impassively, registering Blaise gauging the crowd and Pansy fixated on Hermione.  
"YOU ARE LIKE VULTURES! PRAY ON SOMEONE ELSE!" Hermione had tears streaming now, and none of the crowd could bring themselves to look away. Then Hermione had quietened. She disappeared back for a moment and the crowd muttered. I simply waited. They didn't know whether she was coming back. I did. Some started to walk away, but the whispering returned when she did, and they turned to stare.

I actually, didn't realise what she was planning to do, until it happened. She was wet, covered in what I had assumed was water.  
"Soronus" She'd said, and pointed her wand to her throat.  
"It looks like you are all here for a show. I suppose I should give you one. Why don't you all watch me?" Her voice sounded like a strange whisper, sending shivers over the onlookers. I felt Pansy's anticipation as if it were my own. I watched passively.

Hermione laughed, in a high pitched, deranged way, and then got out a muggle match, and lit it, before dropping the flame onto herself, and for one moment she lit up, and it looked like she had reached deep within herself.

"Why don't you all watch me burn?" She'd whispered.

For that one last moment, she smiled fanatically, her robes, her hair, her body on fire. The smell was acrid in the air, it already thick with her screams as she burned.  
I heard the gasps of horror, the terror, the cries of shock. I even heard Blaise laugh.  
And then she jumped, the wind speeding up the process, feeding the flames as they ate her alive. St Mungo's said she was dead on impact.

I went back after, and looked. The ground she had fallen on had black scorch marks. But it was more than that. The ground she had hit would be blackened forever. I could feel it. The Darkness was in that spot. It would never be clean again.

I came back to reality and dimly realised I'd broken the glass… Brandy dripped over my hand, intermingled with a stinging sensation, the glass had cut me. I didn't really care, just as I had watched her fall and burn, I watched my blood and the brandy drip on our precious, expensive Malfoy carpet.

The Darkness infects us all in it's own ways.

And the Darkness Consumed Her.


	2. Celebration, Death

**Dark Decadence**

By Nara Occult

_Celebration Death_

**Series Summary:** Draco, Pansy, Blaise… all next generation Death Eaters, destined to be darkly, gloriously evil murderers. If you think they're innocent, you're dead wrong. Literally. One shots Series  
**Colour:** Black  
**Antagonist:** Draco Malfoy**  
Summary:** Black. We're all about Black. The Ministry claims that Death Eaters are cowards. But maybe the truth is just that we enjoy your fear... In the inky darkness, there's no one to see you go missing, no one to hear your scream.

**Disclaimers:** This is a series not a continuing story; that is to say a whole bunch of deliciously dark one-shots based around Draco, Blaise and Pansy. They are not connected. You could skip one and read others. I do not own or profit from Harry Potter. If this looks familiar, it's because they were originally individual stories and I decided to combine them. Warnings for Slash and Femslash references in some stories.

_Celebration Death_

Black. Swirling Black, with what I, Draco Malfoy like to think of as 'hell fire red' and 'Avada Kedavra Green'. That's what the Death Eater meetings are about. There are so many, many more Death Eaters than the Order of the Phoenix gives us credit for. Pansy, Blaise and I hadn't quite grasped how many until the eve of the Dark Lord's proper rise. Sure, the Dark Lord had returned when Diggory died, but he had bidden his time. Until then, the night before all his plans came to fruitation and the Ministry collapsed in smoking, bloodied ruins.

Gathering in a conjured amphitheatre in the Malfoy gardens, all sorts of entertainment was conjured. Jesters in demonic masks, fire eaters, all manner of minor dark creatures… Danger littered the night.  
Dark Wizards and other creatures from all around the world were visiting tonight for one reason. Him. Bulgaria had been most rewarding, they made Dark Wizards of every third Pureblood, as opposed to the general minority in Britain. The Dark lord had been well pleased.

I looked around myself in hidden glee, because it was as if I had stepped into a child's nightmare. The night is our time, our time to strike. Power welled out of the darkness, just waiting, offering itself for the taking. The Full Moon shone from between the clouds as fire flamed up to my left and singed my arm a little. Then I saw them. Blaise and Pansy. Both stunning in black, mask-less and with charcoal lined eyes… highlighting the darkness in themselves naturally. They are of course, my partners in everything I do. My lovers, my generals, the commanders of my branch of Death Eaters.

I naturally had the younger generation of British Death Eaters, Lucius the Inner Circle, Bellatrix the Foreign circles. I defer only to Lucius, Bella and our Lord and only report to them and Severus Snape, our Initiator. He trains the new recruits.  
Tonight's spectacular activities were nothing. As of 11.11pm, the Dark Lord will appear. At midnight, the slaughter will start. Then they will truly understand.

It's the anticipation, the secrets hidden in others' eyes, the double life…the _excitement_. Tonight is like a dark festival, a dark carnival, a dark celebration for _him_, for the Dark Lord. The masks and robes made us look like death ourselves, they are, after all, made to inspire fear. I saw the charcoal rimming Blaise and Pansy's eyes under the masks now adorning their faces.  
Potter and his golden gang thought the Death Eaters were only about death. That's where they were so far wrong. It is about life, about where society was heading with it's filth and about feeling alive.  
Nothing makes you appreciate the frailty and exhilaration of life like watching someone beg for mercy, choke as their air is cut off, gasp for breath as their lungs collapse, try and staunch an endless river of crimson blood…  
Nothing makes us feel more powerful than watching the light in a person's eyes go out. Nothing makes people scream like Crucio.

As we gather in the amphitheatre, (naturally our property is warded against ... less than invited guests) the cheers and catcalls arose from the crowd, including a wild howling from the Werewolves.

Lucius and Bella stepped onstage, each opposite to each other and yet complimenting each other. Lucius, my father, the man who shares my famous white blond hair, looked elegant and utterly cold. Bella however, is a woman, lustrous black hair around a gaunt face... she is hot blooded. She feels the excitement the occasion deserves and cannot disguise it, nor does she attempt to. Together they raised their hands and the wild sounds died away. Bella then sat next to my mother, Narcissa, giving the floor to Lucius. Equally cold as Lucius, Narcissa is his match in a way Bella is not. She is his female form, white blond hair, poised, elegant and utterly an ice queen.

Lucius made his speech, talking about loyalty and rewards. He built the excitement using words deliberately phrased to trigger the bloodlust. Once someone is that far gone… they will kill until their own death. I know, I've seen it. I stood beside Bella, both of us watching as the crowd's lust rose, as the excitement made them squirm, as the anticipation made it almost unbearable. A fitting way for the Dark Lord to make begin the end of all that was 'good'. And as the sibilant sounds from my Lord bid me do, I, Lucius and Bella stood, knelt before the Dark Lord.

"Make me proud." Was all the instruction we needed.  
The wild catcalls, jeering, howling, begging, screams erupting from all around the mansion filled me with a dark elation, more so as the Dark Mark claimed the sky with a triumphant "Mosmoreda!".

Nothing will stop us this time.


	3. Together, Always

**Dark Decadence**

By Nara Occult

_Together, Always_

**Series Summary:** Draco, Pansy, Blaise… all next generation Death Eaters, destined to be darkly, gloriously evil murderers. If you think they're innocent, you're dead wrong. Literally. One shots Series  
**Colour:** Orange  
**Antagonist:** Blaise Zabini**  
Summary:** Orange. Orange reminds me of the Weasel Twins. Why them you ask? What wounds more than the loss of one person? Two. And us having them kill themselves hurts more still.

**Disclaimers:** This is a series not a continuing story; that is to say a whole bunch of deliciously dark one-shots based around Draco, Blaise and Pansy. They are not connected. You could skip one and read others. I do not own or profit from Harry Potter. If this looks familiar, it's because they were originally individual stories and I decided to combine them. Warnings for Slash and Femslash references in some stories.

_Together, Always_

Orange. That's what comes to mind when I think of the Weasel family. Blood traitors and cheap trash. Orange is the colour I think of when I remember the twins. Fred and George Weasley. Notorious pranksters. Not anymore ha ha.

Ridiculously useless colour, orange, really. Not a bit of decorum and elegance. Crass.

We'd decided to do a little scientific experiment one day, Draco, Pansy and I. How would wonder boy Potter cope with all of his staunch friends and allies dying around him? And to think, the was hadn't started yet.

Of course it had. The war never stopped, will never stop until our Dark Lord is victorious. I've never much cared for muggles, about as useless as a dopey house elf, scum that they are. Creatures are inferior to Purebloods like us. It's when people finally start to realise this that the war will stop.

I was bought up on the Pureblood Journals, the 'bible' of the Wizarding world. Pureblood journals have the answers to everything, including life and death. But only a dark wizard can see into death and only a strong one can learn from it.

First of all, why the Weasel twins? Because we, my most likely muggle-loving trash, are much more intelligent than the 'Golden' side. What hurts, what wounds more than the loss of one person? Two. And what hurts more than us killing plenty of people? Us having people kill themselves.

Having someone desperate enough to take their own lives, to slip through your fingers wounds much more effectively than me killing. The anger is double, the helplessness turns into hate and fear… it's nearly perfect.

And then it was who was the weakest? We thought it was Fred, the less independent of the two. So we had to kill George. But how to get him alone? They were always together! It was incredibly frustrating for plotting schemers such as us.  
Obviously we had to use bait, and what would George go for more than a delightful Gryffindor, along the lines of say, Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell or Angelina Johnson?

Myself, I'm more partial to Johnson. She has beautiful skin. Dark silk.

So we chose Spinnet. Pansy took particular delight in that. We put her under the imperious curse; made her invite George to the Room of Requirements, the only secret room that stupid Gryffindors knew of.  
And then we made her tie him up nice and tight, helpless on the bed. Wand gone. We had to snap it, just in case you know. Spinnet's eyes were nice and teary, by the time Weasel woke up, he was beginning to realise the danger he was in. We put her in a body bind but let her speak.

She sobbed. Cried. Begged Weasel for forgiveness. Idiot that he was, he comforted her, told her it would be alright.  
_Imperious_.  
When Spinnet stood again, Pansy made her fuck George. He was so angry, but couldn't stop his body's reaction. Pansy, Draco and I watched laughing.  
_Cruciatus_.  
We got both of them, enjoyed their screaming in the soundproofed room while they continued to fuck. Sue us, we're sick and twisted little Slytherins. And we're going to take over the world.  
_Avada Kedavra_.

It was when Spinnet cast the final spell, buoyed by Pansy's conviction and strength, that we let the Imperious off of Spinnet. The little bitch cried. Pansy cut off her hair. Draco had some fun with her. I didn't want to touch the thing. Spinnet disgusts me.

Then we made her write the note. Begging for her life against Death Eater's who had snuck into the castle. How much pain she was in, how we'd tortured her and George. How he'd died trying to comfort her.

Awwww, I can just picture the heart ache that will cause. After a bit more molestation by Draco, we killed Spinnet nice and neatly. Then we went into the Great Hall. Like the proper scientists we were, we watched Fred discreetly. While Ron and Lee joked about George 'finally getting some' we wanted to know what that twin bond felt. Nothing most likely.

Not like George was alive right?  
I sipped my pumpkin juice thoughtfully. We really should experiment more, I had grown into a taste for pitiful screams.

Fred seemed nervous. Fred seemed to constantly twist. Fred was uneasy.

He looked over at us, and we each looked up, holding his gaze maliciously, grins on our faces and nothing so far fetched as remorse in our eyes. We made Fred more unsettled still. Oh. Poor Fred. You'll be even sadder when you realise we murdered your brother. Excuse me while I wipe away this mock tear here.

Of course, we wore our invisibility cloaks, followed him. It was amusing.

He started walking fast. Sped up. He was nearly jogging. I could practically sense the wheels of worry turning in his head. He finally broke into a run, before shouting in panic "Show me George!" to the room of requirements. Well, you had to give the stupid room credit. It showed him George.

Fred ran in. George, odd angles, no pulse. Uh oh, what's a twin to do Fred? He turned a pasty white and backed out of the room until he hit the wall. We really should have made George bleed. Blood does wonders for a death scene.

Then he was rather boring. He walked back in, leaving the door wide open, cradling his brother's lifeless body. He never even read our note! For shame, how utterly impolite. He started crying silently.

It was a Hufflepuff who found him, she freaked and screamed so loud pretty much half the school was outside the rooms. We had to walk back, drop the cloaks, then pretend we'd reappeared. Bit of an annoyance really. Of course the school, naturally was shocked. An inquisitor from outside was even bought in, but we met Lucius in the forbidden forest and he removed our memories, replacing them with modified ones.

It was little after a week when it happened. I missed the death itself (ironically also in the room of requirements, Fred slit his wrists) but I read the letter. Oh it was passionate and overboard.

"…_I felt a connection to George all my life… then suddenly there was nothing… an abyss… a wound… and he was gone. When I found him… how could you live without your other half? …  
… I am so sorry for doing this, but at least this way we'll be together…always." _

I snorted when I heard that. Bloody Gryffindors. But hey, experiment successful. Twins seem to think in terms of agreement.Hey who knows, maybe they will be?

Together, Always.


	4. War

**Dark Decadence**

By Nara Occult

_War_

**Series Summary:** Draco, Pansy, Blaise… all next generation Death Eaters, destined to be darkly, gloriously evil murderers. If you think they're innocent, you're dead wrong. Literally. One shots Series  
**Colour:** Khaki  
**Antagonist:** Draco Malfoy**  
Summary:** Khaki. A Mudblood War colour. Now, I cease being Draco Malfoy and begin being a Death Eater. Collective or singular, we are trained the same. Merlin help the rest of the world, Because are going to war.

**Disclaimers:** This is a series not a continuing story; that is to say a whole bunch of deliciously dark one-shots based around Draco, Blaise and Pansy. They are not connected. You could skip one and read others. I do not own or profit from Harry Potter. If this looks familiar, it's because they were originally individual stories and I decided to combine them. Warnings for Slash and Femslash references in some stories.

_War_

Khaki. That's the colour the Mudbloods go to war with. It's a big step, the call to war. For all the pawns, we, we must choose sides. Even when it seems the sides have been chosen.

In war… sometimes the lines aren't so clear. Your own friends could be spies, suddenly the sun isn't so warm and inviting anymore. It beats down on you. The friendly chatter on the streets is hushed, whispers that are teased and torn away by the wind. And when you are Draco Malfoy, the whispers stop.

My insolence, ah yes, how dare I walk the streets? Me? A Dark Wizard. I should be in Azkaban right?

Never mind that the Dark Mark is well hidden under my sleeve, and never mind that in their minds, I _should _be innocent. What is that saying the Mudbloods have? Innocent until proven guilty they say.

But ah, they will understand when the time comes. When they face the Malfoys on the battlefield, the Parkinsons, the Zabinis, Knotts, Crabbes, Goyles, Lestranges, Blacks-well the few stray cousins left to the dark side, then they will understand. We are here, we are staying. And we will kill you, and laugh in your face as the light dies from your eyes.

Isn't that fun?

And meanwhile, Lucius still funnels money into the pathetic Ministry, while Narcissa still simpers at their stupid dinners, while our family determinedly assures them all we are on the light side.

That's where they are tonight, at a conference. And where am I?

I am with the others, at our barracks. The Dark Mark burns dark on my forearm as those not staying are called to apparate. We are handed our robes, Death Eaters robes, black, fine quality, and our masks. Designed for maximum impact, each identical. We all of us have an identity no more. As of when the war starts, I cease being Draco Malfoy and begin being a Death Eater. Collective or singular, we are trained to all act the same. Feel nothing, admit nothing, give way to nothing.

We are the new elite and we are our Lord's representatives.

And tonight? Tonight is our last night of training. Intensive, torture some might say. Brainwashing, corporal punishment.

We look straight out as Bella shouts at us, the wind making it hard to hear, the rain beating us down. Training, yes, training, that's where we are.

"RECRUITS! WHAT ARE OUR PRIMARY CURSES?" She screams in the rain.  
"AVADA KEDAVRA!" we shouted, faces slicked with water.  
"CRUCIATUS!"  
"IMPERIO!" the cries echoed in the dark night air.

I did not need to look to my left to know Pansy Parkinson stood next to me in her training robes, just as I did not need to look to my right to know where Blaise Zabini stood.

"WHAT IS OUR AIM!"  
"KILL! TORTURE! DESTROY! REIGN!" we repeated, the words drilled into us so they came automatically, all part of the dull machinations of war.

Bella eyed us all, pausing in front of Pansy, before slapping her in the face. Pansy uttered not a cry, not a flinch, no sign she had been hit but for the mark glowing on her face still.

Bella smiled in satisfaction.  
"Who is your Lord, Pansy?" she crooned.  
"Lord Voldemort, The Dark Lord." Pansy replied, staring straight past Bella until Bella deliberately stepped back in her line of vision.

Satisfied, she looked to me.

"Draco Malfoy… son of Lucius. Tell me, whom do you serve?" she smiled, caressing my face with her hands, softly, gently. I steeled myself not to flinch, and was rewarded when the nails dug in, clawing my face and leaving gashes and I remained still, a soldier, as was everyone else was. At the mercy of my superiors. A new way of equality.

"I serve Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord." I repeated numbly, my face burning. It was almost a relief to feel something after the numbing cold.

Stopping down the line, she finally finished with us all.

"Mosmoreda!" she shouted, the words coming harsh off her tongue as the light from her wand rent the sky and the Dark Mark appeared, the green glow reaching the neighbouring village as the snake slid out of the skulls mouth. Appropriately frightening for fools and children. Appropriately demanding of respect for all others.

"I now command you to your leader, Serverus Snape. Follow him and his decisions. You have completed your training with me. I command thee, go fourth and serve under our Dark Lord Voldemort!" She cried, her face alight with the thrill that comes with Dark Magic.

God help the rest of the world,  
Because we are ready.

We are going to war.


	5. What have I done?

**Dark Decadence**

By Nara Occult

_What have I done?_

**Series Summary:** Draco, Pansy, Blaise… all next generation Death Eaters, destined to be darkly, gloriously evil murderers. If you think they're innocent, you're dead wrong. Literally. One shots Series  
**Colour:** White  
**Antagonist:** Pansy Parkinson**  
Summary:** White. He was so pale. Like a ghost. Everything has changed in a day. I've killed someone, Gods, I'm a murderer... I just wanted them to feel what I feel... And all I can see is white: pasty, deathly, Weasel white.

**Disclaimers:** This is a series not a continuing story; that is to say a whole bunch of deliciously dark one-shots based around Draco, Blaise and Pansy. They are not connected. You could skip one and read others. I do not own or profit from Harry Potter. If this looks familiar, it's because they were originally individual stories and I decided to combine them. Warnings for Slash and Femslash references in some stories.

_What have I done?_

White. He was so pale. Like a ghost. His hair stood out in sharp contrast as I felt my stomach jerk and raced for the bathroom before emptying the contents of my stomach into the toilet bowl. I sat there for a while, elbows on the cool porcelain, absurdly relieved that at least I'd remembered to Scrougify it before actually touching it. Now I smelt like vomit, and my whole body was shaking- I couldn't even hold my arm straight out without trembling.

I got up, looking at myself in the mirror. Pansy Parkinson, average to short height, dark brown hair, impish face and utterly aristocratic demeanor... except for now. With a laugh I noted how pale I was. I was pale white, so was he. Unfortunately, his was the pallor of death, mine born of shock.  
_I never meant for it to end this way! I didn't mean to!_

Sure, I'd had been baiting him, teasing him. I had to act normal, and I wanted to take my frustration out on someone… anyone. Who better than the Blood Traitor? And then he had cursed me, taunted me. It had been painful, and I'd wanted revenge even more. I hadn't meant to. I just wanted him to hurt like I did. Do.

I killed someone.  
Everything had changed in a day. Changed so much for the worse.  
I felt my breathing speed up, gasping. I couldn't get enough air.  
"I didn't mean to!" I whispered, looking once more at the body of Ronald Weasley.  
The walls felt like they were closing in.  
What would I do now?

I've killed someone, Gods, I am a _murderer_. Murderers went to Azkaban, not Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I had to leave. What would my parents think? I have disgraced my family, I am so stupid! How could I be so foolish as to pull a stunt like this! Sure, the Weasel was insulting but I completely over reacted. Where could I go now?

It was because of Draco… I sighed, face in hands. Draco didn't return my feelings. It tore me apart, made me cry at night when the darkness descended and all the Slytherin girls slept. All I ever wanted was him. I'm not stupid enough to think if we were together nothing would go wrong again, but at least this empty ache would stop. Every time he smiled, I felt my façade crack. And I tried so hard, but I could never stay away from that sweet torture. When he flirted with me, even if he showered the same attention on other girls, I couldn't stop. Even living a fantasy, something fake… I couldn't stop deluding myself.

And when he kissed Daphne Greengrass, serial flirt and my own friend, I couldn't make a fuss because I had no claim on him. And I stayed up that night, Daphne's absence deafening in the silence of the room. I wondered, wondered what they shared. Wondered if maybe one day it could be me. And it hurt. I tried to forget, tried to like someone else but he'd just throw a glance my way and I'd melt like butter. I hated it, hated my powerlessness in the face of Draco Malfoy.

And that night I'd been so emotionally confused. Then Ron had mentioned Draco, voiced each and every one of my secret fears. They say Slytherins are connoisseurs of cruelty, but that night Weasel came close. He'd torn me up, laughed when he saw the thinly veiled sheen of tears in my eyes. Damn. A Parkinson never cries.  
And I'd been so _angry_. It had blotted out all thought, all rational emotion. I just wanted him to hurt like I did, feel my pain. I wanted him to understand. _Crucio…_

Of course, when he was gasping for breath, I waited before doing it again, again. By the time I stopped, I began to realise what I'd just done. It didn't even occur to me to use Obliviate. And then he'd said how he was going straight to Dumbledore. The weight of my actions had set in then fully, with all consequences taunting me. Weasel didn't have a great sense of self preservation, that's for sure, because he was taunting me as well.

"_Shut up shut up shut up." I said stressed, pulling my hair as I eyed my victim.  
_"_No… you … can't keep …under wraps…" Ron gasped cruelly, still suffering from screaming under Crucio.  
_"_Shut up, promise me you'll tell no one." I panicked.  
_"_Tell…Dumble…dore…" he coughed.  
_"_Shut up Shut up Shut up…AVADA KEDAVRA!" _

And then the green flash of light had started a whole new set of problems, as the panic rose again like a wave in me as I worked frantically to keep tears from my face and my stomach gave an awful lurch. A Parkinson never cried. Bit late for that now, wasn't it?

I left the body there, for anyone to find. I didn't even bother to arrange the awful angle he was lying in. Let them be hurt when they discovered him- Let them feel as I do. Forcing myself to walk calmly back into the common room, I blithely pretended nothing was wrong as I packed my possessions and shrunk them. Taking one last look, I ran from the Slytherin Dormitories, before bursting out of the doors to Hogwarts. I'd ruined everything and there was nothing left for me here.

And all I could see was white: Pasty, pale and Deathly Weasel white.


	6. Lucky

**Dark Decadence**

By Nara Merald

_Lucky_

**Series Summary:** Draco, Pansy, Blaise… all next generation Death Eaters, destined to be darkly, gloriously evil murderers. If you think they're innocent, you're dead wrong. Literally. One shots Series  
**Colour:** Gold  
**Antagonist:** Pansy Parkinson**  
Summary:** Gold. Everything around me glitters gold. They all look at me with envious, greedy eyes and say "She's so lucky!". I challenge you to live life as a Parkinson with more than one brain cell and be happy.

**Disclaimers:** This is a series not a continuing story; that is to say a whole bunch of deliciously dark one-shots based around Draco, Blaise and Pansy. They are not connected. You could skip one and read others. I do not own or profit from Harry Potter. If this looks familiar, it's because they were originally individual stories and I decided to combine them. Warnings for Slash and Femslash references in some stories.  
Yes, I changed my name! This should be the final name change for me though, I plan to keep this penname permanently.

_Lucky_

Gold. Everything around me glitters gold. The banister rails, imported straight from Bulgaria, our special dinner ware. My rings. My earrings. My necklaces. I drip gold.  
How would my parents react, if they knew I would settle for silver? I'd love to see their faces when I admitted while I would settle for silver, I liked bronze best of all.

My life is like gold too. It's beautiful, hard and cold. Untouchable. You don't muck around and climb trees wearing gold, you lock it away on its own in a safe.  
That's my life, and like any Slytherin, I've adapted to it well.

It's my debutante ball, my coming of age. When I officially become a pawn for the parents to barter over. I know the Parkinsons well- my parents will settle only for Blaise or Draco. Fine gold weave was spun through my straight black hair. My hands held varying gold rings, my neck was decorated with a choker of gold and diamonds. I even have a small gold anklet on each ankle, courtesy of Blaise and Draco. My dress, strangely enough, is also gold. Putting on an aristocratic face is no mean feat, I lock my feelings behind my best mask and smile coldly as I descend the stairs like an Empress. I smile, but secretly give the obligatory "I've got higher status than you, so back off!" warning look to the bitches clapping on the sides. And for one moment, their masks slip and I see the blatant hatred and envy on all of their faces. Fools.

My makeup is done to perfection, I look almost Egyptian with my black hair and eyeliner, my gold jewellery and eye shadow. I look every bit the untouchable queen. Looking across, I see Blaise and Draco. Blaise's mask exceeds mine easily. What he thinks has always been a mystery to me. I don't enjoy the torture the Death Eaters seem to thrive on but it happens. It's a simple equation- if I try and stop it, I die. My parents have never hidden facts from me, I've known since a young age that I was but a bartering chip on the table.

When I was very little, I didn't quite understand that. I tried to make the worst kind of friend, a muggle. They killed the family in front of me, put the imperious on me and made me kill the girl-child myself. It was a bad way to die, and I had nightmares about it for years. The best part, I thought, was the way I was covered in blood, her blood, by the time I was allowed to dictate my own body again. Then they made dolls, realistic, lifelike dolls and myself, Draco and Blaise had to torture them, listen to their realistic screams and enjoy them. For five years, I was out of favour for my mistake. I've never made that mistake again. For their sake, and for mine, I was better off being a pureblood first and foremost.

So when Blaise smiles at me, compliments me, it will never warm my heart. It chills me to acknowledge it, but I'd be a fool not to be wary of the Zabini's. It's not worth dying over to complain and hope he sympathises.

And Draco? The empty headed idiot believes everything Lucius parrots off. He'd honestly be confused if I expressed any discontent. What a bitter pill to swallow. He's beautiful, but also an empty shell. Then there's Aralia, my mother. She's so proud of it, the mannequin in gold. Me. Congratulations, you've butchered your child's upbringing sufficiently that she'll never trust anyone again. She's model material, my mother. Aralia Rosier now Parkinson, she has naturally honey brown hair, a finely sculpted face and is possibly the shallowest human being on the planet. She certainly has no cares for my dear younger brother, deceased now. I loved Markhoff, but he had no survival sense, openly defying Voldemort at Durmstrang. My father, Baron Rustion Parkinson, tracked him down and killed him himself. I heard him say it with no guilt, shame or pain in his voice. He's now a burn mark on the family tree.

As the dancing starts, I remember my training. I used to get hit if I missed a step, so it's no wonder I'm a more than passable dancer. My shoes hurt my feet, but I'm trained to ignore that. The gold and diamonds almost blind me as for a moment I look into a giant mirror. The woman who stares back is a self assured bitch with fake nails, fake hair, fake makeup, who lords herself over others. She is a perfect copy of her mother.

As we dance over and over again, until I'm nearly dizzy and the perfumes in the ballroom make my head ache and my nose start to run, I hear envied whispers.

"Look at that gold necklace! I hear her father bought that for her, for tonight!"  
"She looks like a Queen!"  
"Who does she think she is?"  
"She's so Lucky."

I'm alive. I'm rich. I'm also contemplating a no nonsense suicide as we speak. I doubt I'll do it, I don't have the courage. As we continue a waltz, Draco looking proud and haughty in my arms, I think about the girl I killed, my own friend. I think about Markhoff, who never got a chance to go for his NEWTS. I think about Aralia, Rustion, the Malfoys and the Zabinis. I think about the reflection of an empty woman.

And I think… Aren't I lucky?


	7. Goals

**Dark Decadence**

By Nara Merald

_Goals_

**Series Summary:** Draco, Pansy, Blaise… all next generation Death Eaters, destined to be darkly, gloriously evil murderers. If you think they're innocent, you're dead wrong. Literally. One shots Series  
**Colour:** Purple  
**Antagonist:** Draco Malfoy**  
Summary:** Purple. It roiled around, a sick purple, instant death. Having Goals is a funny thing. You spend all your life trying to achieve them, when you do, what are you left with? A bitter aftertaste.

**Disclaimers:** This is a series not a continuing story; that is to say a whole bunch of deliciously dark one-shots based around Draco, Blaise and Pansy. They are not connected. You could skip one and read others. I do not own or profit from Harry Potter. If this looks familiar, it's because they were originally individual stories and I decided to combine them. Warnings for Slash and Femslash references in some stories.

_Goals_

Purple. This is what it had come down to, this … this nothing. It was a gross colour, really. So we had accomplished our goal. The Dark Lord was fantastically happy. Though there was but one Horcrux left, the Dark Lord had been rid of his most tiresome enemy, Harry Potter, finally.

We'd been working on this goal for so long, ever since the battle where Severus and I fled Hogwarts, flying our true colours. I sponsored Theodore Nott, knowing he rather than I, was far better placed to lead the mission and live a life in the Dark Lord's service. I lived for one thing- my goals. Goal really. Kill Potter. We had to follow him all over the world, not even understanding why he was tramping everywhere, because the Dark Lord didn't admit to the Horcruxes until after Potter's death. After that the Order of the Phoenix pretty much gave up. Remus Lupin himself euthanized Hermione Granger, Arthur Weasley killing his entire family before he was taken and tortured to death. Dark times, these were. Not that I was regretful about that, au contraire, I nearly regretted the completion of my goal, for now I had nothing left, nothing left but… this.

Theodore Nott was placed higher than any Death Eater, bar Bellatrix Lestrange, and there was nothing left for me. My goal, as well as Pansy and Blaise's, was done. There was no second chance.

Pansy and I set the cups down.  
"This is the quickest way." I assured her and Blaise.  
We sat there and stared at each other, startled by the door opening to reveal Theodore Nott. His black eyes darted to the cups, the jug.

"You are going to deny life in the Lord's service…" it was a statement, not a question. Pansy, Blaise and I were frightened for the first time in a long time.  
"Don't worry, you pathetic fools. I won't mention this until it's too late." Theodore snarled.  
"Why?" breathed Blaise, echoing Pansy and Draco's thoughts.

"Because I owe you a Wizarding debt, for sponsoring my rising within the ranks Draco. I know you did it so I could take your place, but I acknowledge the debt all the same. The Dark Lord does not need weaklings like you." Theodore spun on his heel and strode out, cape flying behind him like a hero in a mudblood movie.

"Let's get this over with." Blaise said nervously, pouring the dark liquid into the cups. It roiled around, a sick purple, instant death.

"A toast- To our Dark Lord Voldemort, to the overthrowing of the Ministry of Magic, and most importantly, to the Death of Harry Potter." I grinned maniacally.

"To the Death of Potter." Pansy and Blaise echoed, us three locking eyes and lifting the cups to drink. The liquid burned as it went down my throat, I had to force myself not to throw up as my body tried to reject the poison, tried to save itself. The effect was instant. Blaise fell against the wall, cups dropping from the fingers that would no longer respond. The door was thrown open roughly but Pansy could not raise her head, could not see, could not hear. I looked up at Theodore Nott, the pride of Lord Voldemort, his heir. I looked up at Bellatrix Lestrange, at Lucius Malfoy, my own father, at the Death Eaters behind and started laughing. As they stared in horror, in contempt at me, I laughed with the air my lungs weren't getting, laughed as everything turned the same ugly purple as the poison, laughed as I coughed up my own blood.  
My last moments were to laugh at their folly, and mine- and my escape.


	8. Vivica

Dark Decadence

**Dark Decadence**

By Nara Occult

_Vivica_

**Series Summary:** Draco, Pansy, Blaise… all next generation Death Eaters, destined to be darkly, gloriously evil murderers. If you think they're innocent, you're dead wrong. Literally. One shots Series

**Colour:** Translucent  
**Antagonist:** Pansy Parkinson**  
Summary:** Translucent, Granger, that's what you are. He'll never tell you the words you want to hear, so why bother? I can pull your strings, manipulate you- I know you Granger. Stay with me… Stay with me forever.  
**Disclaimers:** This is a series not a continuing story; that is to say a whole bunch of deliciously dark one-shots based around Draco, Blaise and Pansy. They are not connected. You could skip one and read others. I do not own or profit from Harry Potter. If this looks familiar, it's because they were originally individual stories and I decided to combine them. Warnings for Slash and Femslash references in some stories. Inspired by 'Vivica' by Jack Off Jill. Femslash warning.

_Vivica_

I watch Granger. I watch her at breakfast. I watch her during classes. I watch her interact with the other two miserable parts of the Golden Trio. I watch her when the mask slips. I watch her in the library. I watch her as she cries his name. And sometimes, I get to watch her in the rare moments she calls _my _name. Granger, you are translucent, transparent… I know you too well now.

Do you know, do you know exactly what drove Hermione Granger, official member of _The_ Golden Trio, to warm the bed of Pansy Parkinson, future Death Eater?

It was him.

I'm both grateful to him, and disgustingly jealous at the same time. After all, you can't compete with memories, can you? She cries his name when she's with me, and I know she thinks of him more than she thinks of even Potter. Everyone else would be so appalled if they knew the secrets behind Granger, her little quirks.

Cedric Diggory would have had everyone turn in their own graves if they'd known he was cheating on Cho Chang when he died. Cheating with Granger. Funny, isn't it? I know I laughed outright, then sobered, then demanded to know if it was true. Draco and Blaise laughed at me- they know of my little Mudblood fetish, my fixation on Granger. So help me, I have no idea exactly what it is (if I knew, it would be rectified at once) but something, _something_ about Granger addicts me to her. I'm not stupid enough to think Granger really feels much for me, she fell into our… liaisons… rather haphazardly after finding poor Cedric was deader than the proverbial muggle doornail, whatever the hell that is.

When Granger was with Cedric, I knew. She had something else about her, a more secretive, loose demeanor. When she was with Cedric, she relaxed from the awful shrew she'd become. We three Slytherins used to take bets, make up sordid scenarios between us about what really went on between Cedric's sheets- Draco particularly was into submission and dominance, Blaise loved the idea of a threesome. We're sick- perverted, and we have good imaginations.

When the Dark Lord killed Cedric, it was as if something had snapped, something had withered away and died. She was like an apple with a worm residing in it's rotted and hollow core. I recognised it in her, and it intrigues me- like watching a disease existing in her body. The disease talks to me, and sick woman that I am, I love her for it. I love her for her flaws, for her lack of any real substance now, for her weakness in being unable to _live_ without him to see her through the long nights.

We have chemistry, I can make Granger's body beg for me and frequently do. It's beautiful in a way. But her mind… when her mind can disengage, she looks past me. She searches for him, and she can never find him. I know lately, she's been particularly distressed because she's beginning to forget. She's forgetting the time with him, and now she's scared she won't even have her memories, just a feeling of emptiness.

And late tonight, when we lie awake, and she's on my bed, I look at her, absent-mindedly tracing circles on her thighs, creating an invisible line and tracing it up to her stomach… she's not there. Not _Granger_. Blaise and Draco are sitting in the corner of the room, watching, and she's letting them. Because she's slipping away from me and there's nothing I can do but use her while I can. She was never wholly mine in the first place.

Even when I bite her hard, leaving an angrily red set of teeth imprints on her left breast, all it does is shake her out of her monotony for a while. Kissing her hard enough to bruise her lips, I see she finally realises Draco and Blaise are in the room, sitting calmly and taking it all in. She's naked after all, bared to them, shouldn't she be angry?

And all she does is raise an eyebrow and then kiss me back. With tongue. And now she's seducing me, turning me on, stroking me, sucking on my neck.

The dynamics have changed- it was always me luring her before. I can see the sickness in her eyes, standing out, and when I tell her that she's beautiful, I'm telling it that _it_ is beautiful. I want her so much more when I know she's falling apart.

And finally Blaise and Draco see exactly what it is that lured me to her. Because Granger is weak, a victim, and I am the predator. I know, encourage the sickness in her, the feeling of emptiness and she does nothing to prevent me. She's lost the will.

Oh Hermione, you're so beautiful, so fragile, so weak and flawed. You're not mine- but you'll never be his either. I could see it in your eyes, even as you screamed for me and arched that creamy back of yours, you knew. But I'll keep you here with me, and I promise… I'll tell you everything _he_ never told you. I'll make all the promises he never made.

You knew all along, and you can't hide it from me- neither of us even care that to me you'll always be translucent.


End file.
